


Solitary People

by scifiromance



Series: C/7 Behind the Scenes [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifiromance/pseuds/scifiromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is surprised by the unexpected people who rally around him during his solitary confinement... P/T. A friendship scene for Tom, Seven and Chakotay set in S05xE09 'Thirty Days'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitary People

Seven of Nine felt an unusual sense of relief as the ring of the shift change bell through Engineering roused her from her, rather forced, absorption in her task. She could see the same mix of anxiety and relief reflected on the faces of many other members of staff as they hurriedly abandoned their duties to the night shift personnel, who were trickling in with a reluctance rivalling the haste with which their counterparts left. It wasn’t the normal enthusiasm for recreation, a meal or sleep which propelled the staff out though, the tension that weighed down their shoulders and lined their faces didn’t lift as they left their stations, the hoarse bark of their Chief Engineer’s voice their only goodbye.

The atmosphere could be partially explained away by the quantity and complexity of the repairs required after the brief ambush Voyager had suffered the day before, but Engineering was generally one of the most efficient areas on the ship by necessity, and since they’d seen and dealt with much worse damage in their years together, the staff should’ve been able to cope with relatively cool heads, but not right now. It was the eleventh day of _Ensign_ Tom Paris’ solitary confinement. Seven noted, as she saw Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres disappear into Jefferies Tube 598 Alpha with a tricorder and tool box in hand, determinedly ignorant of the fact that her work day had been declared over, that tonight was not going to be the night where B’Elanna allowed herself to dwell on Tom’s situation. Not that to do so would’ve helped; if there was anything Seven of Nine understood it was the compulsion to bury oneself in work. On any other night, in the aftermath of any other traumatic incident, Seven would’ve also remained here, but now like the others, she sensed she was intruding on B’Elanna’s private coping mechanism. Whatever punishment the Captain believed Tom Paris deserved in relation to what he had done to, no, _for_ the Moneans, had she truly considered how much she would be punishing her Chief Engineer in tandem? The spectre of the sentence passed seemed to be haunting not only Tom’s loved ones, but the entire crew. What the prisoner himself was going through Seven didn’t want to think about…

Solitary confinement. Even thinking the words made Seven shudder, her chest tighten in fear and repulsion until her heart plunged into her nauseated stomach. She stepped back from the console as the threatened feeling she couldn’t suppress returned to her and she dismissed more rational thoughts of how useful her continued efforts in Engineering would be, hastily joining the last of the stragglers heading for the doors. Somehow, seeing that B’Elanna had not resurfaced to follow them out let a rootless but still present guilt linger in Seven’s gut, and she had to shake herself slightly before heading resolutely for the turbolift. She would regenerate. That would clear away all of this groundless unease to make way for oblivion…

Regeneration hasn’t succeeded during the previous ten nights though, has it? A small, but insolent voice whispered in her mind as she entered the turbolift alone, having been so lost in her thought that the exodus from Engineering had passed her by. “Cargo Bay 2.” She ordered sharply to the Computer, even as she winced at the mental taunt. The dreams, the _nightmares_ , had returned with such a vengeance since she’d heard of the Captain’s judgement that she’d had to check that what had happened on her away mission to ‘The Waters’ hadn’t somehow activated another Borg homing signal. The tell tale raven however, did not appear in this delusion. It did always begin the same however, at a point where memory and imagination diverged. Initially, she’d be sitting in the Delta Flyer, with Lieutenant Paris at the flight controls, Ensign Kim across from her, and Riga the Monean behind them, peering out the windows as they plunged deeper into his planetary ocean than his people ever could. Then they’d see the generator, the technology that had protected but now doomed this marine world, and the scene would change. As they approached, Seven would realise that she was suddenly alone on the Flyer, and as she tried to hail for help the sudden roar of the water would suffocate her voice. The hull integrity of the Flyer was failing, but she would ignore it as she searched for her companions, not realising until the last possible second that water was pouring into the Flyer and she was _drowning_ … Then abruptly, as water filled her lungs, the scene would morph into a memory. She’d be standing in a Brig cell, all of her Borg exoskeleton restored. Captain Janeway wasn’t there, no one was there, and yet she was screaming, throwing herself against the forcefield, left deranged by the emptiness, _alone_.

“Computer, halt turbolift!” It took the echo of her own cry reaching her ears for Seven to realise that she’d been pressed against the wall of the turbolift with her eyes squeezed shut, hyperventilating. She stared down at her shaking hands, one Borg and one human. Yes, she’d known solitary confinement, and it wasn’t a fit punishment, for anyone. Taking one careful, calming breath, she was surprised by how much relief saying her next order gave her, “Computer, redirect turbolift to the Brig.”

Thankfully the Brig, like her Cargo Bay, was in the bowels of the ship, only two decks above her original destination, and the turbolift quickly came to a steady halt before she could reconsider the wisdom of her impulsive decision. However, unlike the Cargo Bay, the route to the Brig from the turbolift was down a narrow, claustrophobic corridor. Obviously the ship’s designers hadn’t wanted to make reaching it an appealing prospect, but, of course, such things were irrelevant to Seven of Nine.

* * *

 

Tom Paris let out a sigh as he laid his final card down on the rest of his hand spread out over his bunk. He’d found over the past few days that the thrill of winning a game of Solitaire quickly faded, especially when the only other form of distraction he had was writing a confessional letter of sorts to his father.

The sound of two voices, so often background noise when he was in his element in the often hectic environment of the Bridge, now made his ears prick up eagerly, exhilaration and hope flooding him even as he now knew better than to expect more than minimal interaction from his fellow crewmembers for the next nineteen days. He knew the deferential burr of his guard, Lieutenant Ayala’s voice well enough by now for his painfully roused expectations to plunge, maybe he was just getting another bowl of leola root stew sent down for the evening, but the replying voice was as startling as it was unmistakable.

“Yes, it appears as if yesterday’s attack sent a power surge through the security systems, compromising the integrity of the Brig’s forcefields.” Seven of Nine reported with unperturbed calm, hidden from Tom’s view by Ayala standing in the doorway, “They must be recalibrated from here. Lieutenant Torres thought it would be…easier for that duty to be assigned to me.”

Ayala, a Maquis man through and through who Tom had always respected and still did despite the man’s guarding duty, breathed a heavy sigh which revealed the depth of his sympathy for B’Elanna. “Understood ma’am.” He agreed stiltedly.

Seven now moved past him to enter the Brig, a disconcerting new presence in her brash royal blue biosuit, with both her golden hair and slick silver implants glinting in the dim light of the Brig. Tom couldn’t help but shrink back from the forcefield slightly in defeat. If Neelix and the Doctor weren’t going to throw him a bone, Seven certainly wouldn’t. He wondered how much of a fight B’Elanna had put up to be sent down here herself, but then again maybe she’d become resigned to the situation by now. The ex-drone moved smoothly over to the room’s main console, her hands moving from behind her back to rest on the controls as she stared at Tom, her blue gaze piercing but unreadable for the instant that he held it before she turned back to Ayala, “You may take a break if you wish Lieutenant, I will be here for some time.”

Ayala gave a start of surprise, visibly unnerved by the woman’s uncharacteristic consideration. “Thank you ma’am, let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

Tom rose slowly up from his bunk as Ayala left and approached the apparently malfunctioning forcefield; afraid to risk touching it in case it burned rather that just shocked him. Seven hadn’t moved since Ayala had left, her quick fingers at a standstill on the console. “Seven, since you’re here, you couldn’t just poke a hole in the forcefield big enough for me could you?” he asked with forced jocularity, just for the sake of using his voice rather than any real hope, “Or at least fix the malfunction so that I’m not at risk of being electrocuted?” he added more seriously as he took a risk and stepped closer to the edge of his cell.

Seven breathed a small sigh of her own before stepping swiftly away from the console and striding towards the cell until she was directly in front of him, separated only by the forcefield. “You are not at risk Mr Paris. The forcefield containment system is functioning within normal parameters.”

 _Mr_ Paris, no acknowledgement of his demotion. Tom found himself almost insanely grateful for that kindness, but equally bemused. “You fixed the problem already? Why did you bother to send…” He trailed off as Seven’s lips pursed uneasily, realisation dawning on him. “You _lied_? There’s not a problem with the forcefields?”

Seven’s head dipped minutely, but her gaze remained steady. “No.” She answered honestly.

Tom gasped out an incredulous laugh as he stared at her, for a rare moment struck speechless. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face Seven.” He said finally, “Remind me never to challenge you to a game.”

Seven paled as her face creased, pulling back from him. “You consider me duplicitous?” she asked awkwardly.

“No…” Tom backtracked as he saw that he’d hurt her unintentionally, “Not at all. You’re always very…upfront. I guess that’s why I’m surprised.”

Seven nodded slowly, scanning the contents of the cell behind him. Apart from the bunk and a small closed off wash cubicle, the only objects she could make out were a PADD and what she recognised as a pack of playing cards. “You are engaged in…poker right now?”

Tom shook his head as he followed her eyes back to the bunk. “No, poker is a group game, I have to content myself with solitaire.” He thought he saw her wince at that, but then quickly dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. “I’ve also been writing a letter to my father to…explain myself.” He continued without knowing why, relieved when Seven barely twitched her metallic eyebrow in response to the revelation, no curiosity apparent. He could feel his bemusement beginning to simmer into frustration, “What are you doing down here Seven?” he demanded, more sharply than he’d ever intended.

Seven flinched at his almost accusatory tone, her hands moving from their habitual position behind her back to be twisted uncertainly in front of her as she tried to articulate her intentions. “I…I apologise for the intrusion…” She began, starting again as she saw his face fall guiltily, “Do you remember when you informed me that if I wanted to talk or needed a friend, you would assist me?” Her stance relaxed as he nodded firmly, “I thought it may be time for me to ‘return the favour’ under these current circumstances.” She told him gently.

Tom blinked at her, dazed, for a second or so before a wide grin broke out over his stubble dusted face, his drained blue eyes twinkling. “Well, you’d be right about that.” He admitted thickly, “I appreciate it Seven, you have no idea how much.” He saw her becoming uncomfortable under the light of his praise and changed tact, “As my friend, can you tell me if Ensign Calhoun is outdoing me at the helm as much as the Doctor told me he was?”

It was now Seven’s turn to appear bemused. “I do not know why the Doctor would report as such to you, Ensign Calhoun’s skills are adequate for maintaining a flight path but when we required tactical flight manoeuvres yesterday Commander Chakotay had to take the helm.”

Tom’s brows arched in amusement, a laugh lacing his voice that was raspy from disuse. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” He could see from Seven’s expression that she didn’t understand his satisfaction, but pressed on anyway, “I wouldn’t totally trust Chakotay at the helm either, he’s wrecked a few shuttles over the years. B’Elanna’s been on the verge of ripping her hair out when asked to repair them…” His throat closed up as he thought of B’Elanna, a longing for her suddenly filling every part of his battered being. “How bad was the incident yesterday Seven, really?”

“We were ambushed by five ships, but we managed to evade them with no casualties and minimal damage.” Seven replied, “They were Species 2485, the Besomi, not the Moneans.” She assured him hurriedly when she saw his face, “We have now left Besomi space and are conducting repairs.”

“How’s B’Elanna doing?” Tom asked desperately, unable to hold back any longer when he thought of the stress she must be under.

Seven knew better than to assume that he was asking about B’Elanna’s work performance, as she would’ve in the past, but she did not know how to respond to him without inflicting some level of pain. The desperation in his gaze eventually pushed her to answer as honestly as she dared however, “Being deprived of your companionship is causing her some suffering.” She finally answered carefully, “As I’m sure you are also suffering, but from what I have witnessed the crew are helping her to cope somewhat until your confinement is at an end. You should endeavour to do the same.”

Her tone wasn’t unkind, but Tom still grimaced. “I know.” He said brokenly, watching her through half-lidded eyes, “It would help if you told her I was okay, that I’m getting through this.” His mouth twisted cynically as Seven regarded him sorrowfully, “Even if you don’t believe it.”

“I will tell her with conviction.” Seven replied with soft certainty, a reassuring smile that brought real, living beauty to her perfectly sculpted but unreachable features flicking over her face as she held his gaze resolutely.

Tom let his eyes close in relief as he whispered, “Thank you.” When he finally refocused away from B’Elanna to his current and only visitor, he saw that Seven was starting to shift uncomfortably around the room, her eyes skittish. “It’s okay if you want to leave now Seven, I understand. You’ve taken a risk just coming down here…”

A red tinge of embarrassment coloured Seven’s pale cheeks as she caught her unconscious fearful movements. “No, it is not related to that.” She admitted awkwardly, her eyes skating over the room until they fell on the cell that had once been her own, “I haven’t been here since…”

“Oh.” Tom broke in awkwardly, swallowing hard as he looked over at ‘her’ cell. It was short-term, emergency confinement rather than for a longer sentence as his slightly larger cell was. With its white interior and complete emptiness, lacking even a bunk, it reminded him more of a psychiatric ward cubicle more than his own cell. He remembered hearing gossip at the time that Seven had been so ‘rabid’, their word not his, at being separated from the Collective that she’d rammed the forcefield until the human skin around her implants began to sear and fall away. Suddenly, his joke about being electrocuted by his forcefield seemed breathtakingly crass. “I’m sorry Seven, I wasn’t thinking…” He stopped as Seven shook her head, another clear explanation for her presence popping into his head, “That’s part of why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you were kept like this too?”

Seven shuddered involuntarily, her frame quickly stiffening to hide the instant of weakness. “I admit that the thought of solitary confinement being used as an acceptable, arbitrary punishment, when the prisoner is not a threat to the crew, disturbs me…deeply.” She admitted with difficulty.

“I understand that, believe me I do Seven.” Tom responded understandingly, “But I’m okay. Our situations are pretty polar opposites, I’ll admit to bringing myself here, and remember I’ve been in jail before.”

Seven waved a hand demonstratively around the otherwise vacant Brig, eerily silent without the echo of their voices. “Not here.” She pointed out, “Not on Voyager.”

“No, not on Voyager.” Tom muttered ruefully, conceding the gulf of difference. “I thought I was past all this, and the Captain thought so too, which is the reason she had to do this.” He sighed heavily, “I’d do everything again in a heartbeat, and the Captain also knows that too, so I’ll serve out my sentence here and then get on with my life.”

“I understand why the Captain felt the need to reprimand you, you failed to comply and that is dangerous for the crew.” Seven told him seriously, her eyes once again piercing, before her tone became more thoughtful, “The Captain has assured us all of the sanctity of the Prime Directive, and she followed it in this case, but I do not think she remembered what she instructed me on the nature of compassion.” Seeing by Tom’s raised eyebrows that she had lost him somewhat, she expanded on her point, “When encouraging me to assist the Caatati, the Captain told me that compassion is an act of selfless kindness, one which you undertake without prospect of gain for yourself, or even at a risk to your own wellbeing.” She paused to look directly into his face, “ _You_ took the risk of compassion in helping, _saving_ , the Moneans from themselves. You are paying for that risk now, but those people are still saved, whether they ever realise or appreciate what you did for them or not.”

Tom gulped compulsively as her words offered a level of redemption he had neither expected nor sought, but which was a blessed relief all the same since it was honestly given. “I…I hope you’re right.” He murmured hoarsely.

Seven responded with that bird like nod of hers, a glint of shy humour that Tom was now sure was there appearing in her eyes. “I always strive to be.”

Tom found himself laughing uncontrollably at the quip, all the stress, frustration and tension that had been building up inside him since he’d commandeered the Delta Flyer those eleven days ago aching for an escape. Seven took a startled, fearful step back which made Tom try to rein himself in, but it was too late. A new voice echoed around the Brig.

“Ayala?” Chakotay’s voice was sharp but controlled as he entered the Brig, “What’s going…” The question died on his lips as he saw not Ayala but Seven of Nine with Tom, “Seven, what are you doing down here?”

Seven’s face instantly closed up, like a cornered animal, and Tom leapt hurriedly to her defence. “She was down here fixing something with the forcefields and I convinced her to talk to me, she didn’t…”

Chakotay held up his hand to stop him, turning his inscrutable dark eyes on Seven. “Is that true Seven?” he asked quietly.

For a moment Tom wished Seven _would_ prove herself ‘duplicitous’, but as her gaze locked with Chakotay’s and held it, her apparently natural honesty came to the fore. “No Commander.” She answered levelly, “I came here only to ascertain Mr Paris’ level of wellbeing.” She pressed her lips together as she gazed up at him, “I regret that to achieve that goal it was necessary to deceive Lieutenant Ayala.”

Chakotay took a deep breath, “Yes, so you should.” He told her unequivocally, but then ran a strained hand through his hair as he eyed Tom, “I was going to order Ayala to leave for a minute so that I could talk to Tom about what’s happened.”

Surprise registered on both Tom and Seven’s faces, but in the latter it provoked an almost panicky reaction, her face draining of all colour as she jerked away from Chakotay. “Then I will leave Commander.” She informed him shakily, her glance Tom’s way fleeting but meaningful, “Goodnight Mr Paris.” With a single bob of her head, she shot back down the long, narrow corridor towards the turbolift. Tom, having been witness to the past moments of conversation, couldn’t muster up any surprise when Chakotay, too, shot him an almost apologetic glance before following after Seven like a magnet drawn to a pole.

* * *

 

“Seven, wait.” He called in hushed tones down the corridor just as she was about to reach the doors of the turbolift, moving in a couple of his long strides to catch up with her when she instinctively halted at his order despite herself. However, he had to grasp her wrist tightly to get her to turn her face even halfway to his, even in this confined space were their bodies were forced to practically touch anyway. “I thought it was in your nature to comply.”

Seven flinched at having her own disownment of Tom Paris’ actions thrown back at her, and retorted, against her better judgement, “Perhaps I have decided to resist that nature which you condemn and consider convenient by turns.”

Chakotay let her go, his hand not withdrawing but instead falling from hers. “Good.” He murmured thoughtfully.

The reply was too unexpected to register with Seven at once, “Please do not report my…indiscretion to the Captain…” She started brokenly, sadness filling Chakotay as he caught her terrified glance back towards the Brig, but then she seemed to latch on to what he’d said, “’Good’ Commander?”

Chakotay regarded her levelly, “Yes, ‘good’ Seven. It isn’t right to always forsake what you believe in order to comply, although wiser people than me may disagree.” As he saw her head dip in blatant confusion, his hand briefly curled around her wrist again to regain her attention, “The Captain should have known that this punishment would bring up…demons for you, but you know that she wouldn’t put _you_ in solitary confinement…”

“Perhaps not now.” Seven conceded, shooting him a sidelong glance, “She can find other ways to punish me.” Chakotay could practically see the memory of her discipline after the incident with Species 8472 and the Hirogen hunter playing out in her eyes as she stared at him. Only the three of them, himself, Seven and Janeway, knew how deep that wound had been. Seven’s voice cracked as she broke from his gaze, “If…if this punishment is considered suitable for Lieu…Ensign Paris, then it is a threat to everyone.”

Chakotay had to take another deep breath to consider his answer. “Maybe so.” He admitted, “But then again, maybe next time you feel strongly about something like this you should speak up, teach the Captain _your_ lesson in compassion.”

Seven had the grace to blush, “You heard that?”

“Yes.” Chakotay replied, the word weighed with meaning as he gave her hand the briefest of squeezes, conflict scarring his face. “I’m not going to report this, since I’m doing the same thing, but you should leave now.”

Seven’s back straightened, her fear dissipating as she saw in his expression implicit but silent agreement with her, but knew better than to push it. “Goodnight Commander.” She murmured softly, deeply disconcerted, as she retreated into the turbolift.

Chakotay didn’t reply as the turbolift doors closed, the vibrations of the lift dropping through the decks enough to rouse him to turn back to the Brig.

* * *

 

Tom felt amusement ripple through him as he saw Chakotay return alone. Despite the fact that he’d said he’d come to speak with him, from the distant expression on his face it was clear Chakotay’s thoughts were with the more unexpected occupant of the Brig who’d just taken her leave. “I’ll say one thing for Seven of Nine, she leaves you thinking.” He commented knowingly.

“Always.” Chakotay admitted in a thoughtful near whisper with a slight shake of his head as if trying to free himself. He stiffened as he felt Tom’s appraising eyes on him, caught out, his gaze hardening.

“I didn’t ask her to break me out Chakotay and she never offered.” Tom said defensively, “I think she was just anxious in her own way, God knows she knows what this…” He gestured wildly around the cell, “…feels like. It’s probably her worst nightmare.”

“Yes, it is.” Chakotay confirmed before frowning at Tom, “I’m not going to break you out of here either Paris, you crossed a line.” He gave a brittle sigh as he saw Tom bristle as his defensiveness grew, “But I understand _why_ you crossed it, better than you know, and that’s why I’ve been pushing the Captain to see this confinement as going too far…”

“She’s not seeing it your way, is she?” Tom asked without needing an answer, he could imagine the well trod Maquis vs. Starfleet arguments between Captain and Commander imprinted on Chakotay’s tired face.

“No.” Chakotay answered unnecessarily, likewise not feeling the need to repeat Janeway’s angry and hurtful lectures that ‘Of course _you_ know where he’s coming from Chakotay, you took acting on principle into your own hands and look what that got you!’ “And I’m not going to try again Tom, your rash actions brought all this on. If you’d held back then the Captain could’ve taken the time to talk to Monean leaders other than that blowhard Backus and maybe convinced them to help themselves. As it is, you’ve made us another enemy in the Delta Quadrant, even if you were saving them.”

Tom lifted his hands up in surrender, “Look, I _know_ all that, I risked a lot and I’ve paid for it by losing the Captain’s trust, but I can’t say I regret what I did when it saved those people, can you understand that?”

“Yes.” Chakotay replied quietly. There was such a long pause before he spoke again that Tom wondered if that concession was all he was going to get. “If I’d been in your position I probably would’ve done the same thing.”


End file.
